Ouroboros
by Ember Nickel
Summary: In Parseltongue, there is no word for "end."  Written from a Ten Names Game prompt and a lot creepier than my normal fare.
1. One

_Author's note: This story was written based on a prompt from the "Ten Names Game" topic at the Harry Potter Next-Gen Fanatics forum. The premise of the thread is that each poster leaves the names of ten characters, which the next poster has to play matchmaker for and pair them up with others on the list, leaving a short summary behind for each pairing. A Salazar/Luna prompt caught my eye: thanks to TheInvisiblePrincess for leaving both those characters on the list, and justalittle l o o n y for coming up with the prompt._

_So here it is-but I'll warn you now, this is not the most romantic premise (I'd say it's one of the least romantic on the list), and the story will be darker/creepier than my normal fare, so the squeamish might want to turn back before we get very far. I'd quote the prompt here but it'll spoil the entire thing-feel free to look it up if you're curious. (I won't be using the entire thing verbatim, but nod to different bits and pieces of the premise throughout. Enjoy, if you can! Updates will probably be weekly.)_

Salazar pulled his robe tighter around him as he walked outside, vaguely noticing that it was actually quite a warm day. It was impossible to feel comfortable, though, after another argument.

He made his way down to the lake and knelt in the sand, going through pebble after pebble. Probably more than were necessary. He wasn't quite sure himself whether he really wanted to _use_ the pebbles or just have something to do in seeking them out. Godric's voice, so arrogant and full of plans, still rang through his head.

One pebble, large and speckled—the type that would sink with a satisfying _thunk_. Another, black and ridged, that scratched his finger when he picked it up. He sifted and sifted, almost but not quite falling into enough of a trance to forget the angry words hissed inside. Finally, a forgettably small white rock, near-translucent.

After clenching them in his hand for a moment and muttering spellwork under his breath, Salazar stared into the lake.

_Friendships will rise and fall as they may,_ he admitted to—himself? Or the cold magic circling him?_ I seek not my own future—but let Hogwarts itself endure!_

Then, quickly, he cast each stone into the lake in turn.

Salazar was not a Seer, nor did his Scrying amount to much on a good day. Yet where some acknowledged their weaknesses with bows of their heads and honed other skills, Salazar tried to compensate by casting more magic at anything he could. If he could not duplicate something, he would seize it, distort it, make it somehow work in another way.

_Hogwarts_ must _live on. Let it be so. Show me..._

He watched intently as the circles spread out and overlapped. What were they supposed to mean, again? Tall wave, short wave, calm water, bubble...

And then the surface of the lake itself seemed to shimmer with a magical light.

Salazar took a step back, but kept his eye on it. No, the mist meant him no harm, he thought. But how to be sure?

The light seemed to rise above the lake, shifting and turning. Instead of a flat film, it looked more like the figure of a ghost. A figure growing stabler, fuller—

and then, after a flash so bright he winced, a child stood in the shallows of the lake.

She seemed more frightened than he was, racing out before realizing she was not in too deep. She opened her mouth and began to speak, but it was not in a language Salazar recognized.

"Can you hear me?" he said. She looked up at him and shrugged, not seeming to comprehend.

He glanced around—there was no one nearby. "_What about now?_"

At the Parseltongue she recoiled, although not very much—she was still on the edge of the lake.

_Show me what will come to pass..._

Was she a visitor from the future, then, someone from so far gone even her words had changed? Salazar did not know what to make of her—but he thought he knew someone who could.

"Stay here," he said, and cast a Full Body-Bind on her for good measure. She was probably scared, the poor thing. Wouldn't want her to run off.

Ignoring the students' glances as he walked outside—he ought to have made sure none of them went out, but too late—he made his way to Rowena's chambers. "Rowena? I need your help."

"You and Godric have made up again?" she said, irritated.

"Er, yes." He'd have to work on that. "I need your help."

"So I've heard."

"There's a—a visitor here, who doesn't seem to speak our language. And I'm not quite sure what language she _does_ speak. Can you show me some of your translation charms?"

"If you don't know what language she speaks, that'll be difficult. Very...she's not a Muggle or anything, is she?"

"Of course not!" Dimly he realized he was not sure, but she'd come from Hogwarts, it seemed. Even if he was horribly wrong, Rowena would not need to know he'd been associating with Muggles.

"It'll be hard," Rowena repeated, running her fingers through the edges of the book she was reading. Slowly, she stood up and rummaged through her shelves, eventually settling on a page with large runes.

"This is your best bet, I think. The only trouble will be if she wants to cast spells—I'd probably have to take it off and put it on again."

"Oh, no, I can cast runes," Salazar said, trying to sound cool and distant. Rowena believed him, of course—trust her to assume everyone _else_ assumed she was judging their magical knowledge.

He had other reasons, of course. Rowena was a busy witch—no need to trouble her with dealing with the child. The visitor was _his_ responsibility. He would handle her.

Once he'd reread the runic inscription, he made his way back down to the lake. The child was still there, and did not seem to have been disturbed. Salazar lifted the incantation, then quickly cast the runic spell.

"Can you understand me?" he repeated.

She nodded.

"Speak. This charm ought to have allowed you to speak to me."

"Hello, there," she said quietly.

"Are you a Hogwarts student?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who I am?"

She bit her lip. "I think I have seen pictures of you."

"What year do you come from?"

"Come from? Where am I now?"

"Hogwarts, of course. See." He pointed to the school.

"Oh. What did you do to all the other children?"

Perhaps she had been outside, at the lake, with others..."Your schoolmates are not here. This is a different time."

Her mouth made an "O."

"So you must tell me—what year was it, for you?"

"Er," she stammered. "1993."

He blinked, certain he'd misheard. "One _thousand_, nine _hundred_, ninety-_three_?"

"That's right," she said, nodding as if frightened.

"_Anno domini_?"

She nodded again. "I must have gone very far back. If you cannot understand me anymore..."

"Clever girl. Do you know who Salazar Slytherin—was?"

She stared into his face. "Was, sir? Or is?"


	2. Two

Her name was Luna Lovegood.

"Lufugōd," he said to himself, quietly. English, yes—an English that had been warped and woven over a millennium, but his speech, somehow.

"Luna," though, tripped him up. "It's Latin," she filled him in, but he could not see how any more Latin would make its way to the island. Godric stiffened when he heard the message of war growing louder, a Muggle war but one that would shake wizardkind nonetheless. Rowena grew curious, quizzing her for more and more. Helga told them that they'd have to be prepared, eventually, but in the meantime there were herbs to grow and children to feed.

How easy it was to feed children by the dozens—or ask house-elves to feed them all—and how difficult to feed one small child? He had sent her to eat with Rowena's students, who inspected her as something strange. She did the same, but they had it easier when there were so many more of them—and she was eating food she did not fancy.

"Are you all right?" he asked, as he passed by on what was supposed to be his way out and saw her still slowly gnawing on a piece of bread.

"I suppose," she said mildly.

"What is wrong with the food? The other children eat theirs."

"Yes, I know," she said, looking down. "I...I am not used to these flavors." A few others gave her looks.

"I suppose you would not be," he sighed. "What do you care to eat?"

"I...do not want to talk to you," she suddenly said, sitting down at the table and taking a very large bite out of the bread. Annoyed, Salazar returned to the head table and finished his dinner in a huff.

The students began to trickle out, and when she followed them, he followed at a distance. She seemed ready to make her way into the dormitories, but he called, "Excuse me, Lovegood," and she turned to him.

"Come here," he said. "I have a few questions for you."

She nodded, glancing this way and that as she followed him down the staircase and into a side corridor.

"You come from a thousand years in the future."

She nodded.

"It is...natural that you would have different tastes than the others. Tell me what you like, and I shall see if the house-elves can create it."

"Oh no sir, it wouldn't be fair for me to have special food. There are probably starving Muggles somewhere, and when you consider what the Weaving Wallabat must do for even a morsel of food..." she shook her head. "I couldn't possibly."

"The Weaving Whatnow? What sort of beasts have you discovered in the last millennium?"

"Er, I haven't discovered any beasts, sir. But the Weaving Wallabat is a native of..." she cocked her head to one side. "I suppose you haven't heard of Australia."

"Lovegood," he said, "you _are_a witch, are you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have your wand with you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I want you to try casting a spell. Any spell will do."

She pointed her wand at a book, whispered a couple nonsensical words, and waved her hand. Nothing happened, except that she shook her hand and then looked down at it, dazed.

"Do not worry," said Salazar. "When I nod my head, _but not before_,I want you to repeat that same spell. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

He lifted the translation charm, then nodded. She said something Latin-sounding, making the same hand movement, and the book rose up in the air.

Salazar smiled, picking it up, and restoring the charm. "Do you know why you succeeded that time?"

"No, sir."

"It is because I cast a translation charm on you. As long as the charm remains in effect, you can speak to me or anyone else in the castle—but your wand will not understand you."

"Oh."

"It is completely impossible to expect you to take lessons with these other students. Not where spell-casting is concerned. Perhaps you can study Potions, or the theory of magical lore, but as for your Charms and Transfiguration..." He blinked, an idea forming. "You will have to study with me. That way, you can tell me more about the time you came from, and I will help you learn new magic."

"Oh. Am I not to go back to 1993?"

"I...am not sure."

She wrinkled her eyebrows. "Why not?"

"Before you arrived—what were you doing?"

"Nothing in particular. I'd gone to wade in the lake."

"You were not casting magic?"

"No."

Salazar nodded. "I was, you see. Casting magic, trying to see the future—as I suppose I have done. But in order to duplicate that spell, someone would need to be standing in the past, trying to see _their_ future—I do not know how I could send you _forward _in time."

"Oh."

"Do you miss your friends?"

"Oh no. I haven't got any, where I come from. But my father will miss me, at least at holidays. Of course he won't be too lonesome during the term, he's always known I was going to Hogwarts."

"Your father..." he repeated. "Have you no mother?"

"Oh, no, sir, she's dead."

"Ah," he said, and then, uncertain how to continue tactfully, "What I mean to say is, because of who and what you are, you _cannot_ study with the other children. There is no reason to expect you to eat with them, as well. Speak to me and I will inform the house-elves...you're not being wasteful if they had never expected to cook for you in the first place."

She gave him a quizzical glance, but then nodded and began listing foodstuffs he'd never heard of. One out of three or so made sense, and he mentally noted to tell the elves.

"Tomorrow morning, come to my office on the second floor."

"All right."

She paused, but he had to ask one final question. "Lovegood?"

"Yes."

"What are those hanging from your _ears_?"

"Gurdyroots," she said calmly.

The future, he decided, was a strange place.


	3. Three

Salazar rose early and made his way to his office, perusing a few spellbooks in case there was anything of use. Nothing, of course. Rowena had more books than he did. Maybe Helga was right about them needing one, central library instead of their private collections.

Although Godric would probably want to ban some of his books. For all he went on about tolerance, the warlock could be remarkably unyielding at times.

A house-elf brought Salazar his breakfast, and a bowl for Lovegood. "Am I late, sir?" he squealed.

He must have gotten up earlier than he meant to. "No, of course not." He needed the house-elves to respect him.

"Ah. Very good."

A few minutes later, Lovegood came along. Still dressed in what looked like the same robes, and adorned in those ridiculous vegetables.

"Did you sleep well?"

"No—yes, I did."

"Did you, or did you not?"

"I said, I slept _fine_," she whined.

"Dare I infer that the dormitory standards at Hogwarts have changed somewhat from the pallets?"

"Come again?"

"Never mind," he said. "Here, the House-Elves made this for you. When we've finished talking, you can go to Potions, and at the end of the day come up here and we'll work on Charms."

She nodded.

"Tell me about Hogwarts. Are there...are all the students of pure blood?"

"Oh, no sir. We have many Muggle-borns."

He scowled. "There are many students?"

"Yes."

"Are there any other magical schools in Britain?"

"There's a school for theatre and arts, I believe."

"But nothing as big as Hogwarts?"

"No."

He nodded. That was something. "What do you have lessons in?"

"Er...not all the classes have been sorted out yet. I think I oughtn't tell you. Otherwise there might be a whole silly knot of time." She shuddered. "I suppose that's what Dezzle nests look like?"

"Come again?"

"The nests of the Dezzle. Are all tangled and knotted up, just like we'd get if I told you too much about the future."

He supposed she was right. It had been too much trouble, just to be told that Hogwarts survived. And yet, of all the people he could have pulled from time, perhaps she was the most expendable. "Why don't you have any friends?"

"I'm not sure. I don't quite know how to make them. I try and talk to people, but no one wants to hear about the Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

"Well, perhaps these students will be better listeners. Run along now, you have Potions in the dungeons. Come back here at sunset."

She nodded, and left.

His classes seemed to pass slowly. He looked out over the students, trying to tell if they sat with the same people every day—it would be difficult for Lovegood to befriend anyone there if they all had their separate cliques already. He did not know off the top of his head if it was the same day-to-day, but he did notice the young Mirk heir sitting with the Mudblood Kilkenny, and there was Maximus Ravenna making glances at Felicity, daughter of Stephen. Well, if Ravenna could tolerate such a witch, surely a child from the future couldn't be too much more strange.

Over lunch, Salazar asked Rowena if there were any way to send people through time. She rolled her eyes. "When I'm curious, I'll ask you."

"Ask me?"

"Your little friend is too small to have gotten here by magic, she didn't have a parent or anyone with her. I assume this is your way of trying to brag. When I'm curious, I'll ask you."

"No. Yes. I mean, yes, I was—experimenting—and—summoned her back in time. I want to know if there's any way to send her forward."

"Not to my knowledge."

"Oh. All...all right."

Breaking the news to Lovegood would not be pleasant, of course, yet he did not feel very disappointed. The day went on, and he taught more classes, almost putting Rowena's words out of his mind. And by the time Lovegood showed up again, and he nodded towards another bowl of...something (her wince suggested it was not what she expected, but she did not speak), he had completely forgotten.

"I will need to take the translation charm on and off," he explained. "I want to teach you a charm to make things softer. You can try it on your bed."

"Thank you."

"You can thank me once you _learn_ the spell. Now we'll practice the hand motion first..."

They did not reach the point where he could take the charm off after all—the hand motion was complicated, she was young, and it took some time. He exhausted before she did, although he had been teaching most of the day and she had only been to two classes. "Luna," he experimentally repeated. "I suppose you stay up by the moonlight, then?"

"Not usually," she said. "It's important to get enough sleep, you know, or the Flying Hare will miss you."

"It is," he couldn't help but agree. "Well, perhaps in the future we'll both make more progress by night. Until then—keep coming for lessons with me, tomorrow at this time. Don't try the spell yet until I say you can practice it."

"I couldn't anyway," she reminded him, "it won't work with the charm off."

"Oh," he said, making a mental note to try and soften her bed when she wasn't in it.

As she turned to leave, he called, "Lovegood?"

"Yes?"

"Are you...of pure blood?"

She gives a long look before saying—as if shamefully—"Yes."

"That is good," he said.

She flinched and scurried to the dormitories before he could say any more. He stayed up a little longer, trying to read through assignments, but the students' work was quite poor and he did not have energy to give it the corrections they needed.

And on his way back to his chambers, he asked himself, _It makes no difference. She cannot get back to her birth time anyway. What would you have done if she was_ not?


	4. Four

"What do children do for fun in your time?"

It was an innocuous question, he thought. She did not seem to be making many friends, but perhaps she just needed an activity to share with them.

What he hadn't expected was a rambling explanation of the diversions of the future. Apparently, schoolchildren had brooms, and flew around on them and threw balls at each other. (Godric was very excited about this. Helga slapped him.) Other children bossed around enchanted woodcarvings that represented ancient warriors from India. And other children just liked eating sweets, which she didn't seem to have the words to describe very well.

And that would have been the end of it, because there was no way he could try and duplicate the sweets of her day from her ramblings, or try and mess up the course of history just so a few magical bits of wood could talk back to their owners, except for one day when he saw her talking to a portrait while other students walked through the corridors.

"Lovegood," he said, "what do _you_ do for fun? When you come from?"

"Well, my father tells me about animals," she said. Trust her to curl up and listen to stories—she reminded him of Rowena. "And I like to sing, and dance."

"Do you now? You can sing for me sometime."

It was a statement of fact, not a question or request. And she did not, not then, nor the next few lessons. She _did_ get the Softening Charm worked out, and they moved on to warming and cooling spells. "In case you need to improve your food."

"I'll never need to improve my food."

He raised his eyebrows. "We have matched your palate already?"

"Er, I don't think so. I mean, I will never have _need_ to_ improve_ my food."

"I don't follow."

"Well, if I have food, then that's very good, isn't it? I wouldn't need to improve it any. Perhaps I'd like to, though, and if I know the charm then I'd be able to."

"All right," he sighed. "Well, what about a charm in case you need food, full stop?"

"No one ever needs anything, full stop."

"Certainly people need things. Everyone needs food, eventually."

"We need food to _live_. Like we need mouths to _eat_ or feet to _dance_. But no one says that living is necessary. We just assume it."

He stared at her for a few quiet moments. "Do you want to live, Lovegood?"

"I...I think so," she said. "I don't know if I ought to, really, I've already had a lot of joy and I don't want to take more than is my share. But I'll die someday, so I might as well live first."

He shook his head. Maybe the meaning of "need" had changed for everyone in the coming millennium. "Quibble over words, see if I care. We ought to see if Rowena has a charm to conjure up food, in case you need—"

"You can't conjure food from nowhere," she informed him. "That's one of the five exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration."

"Is it now? They've got them _codified_? That's brilliant!" Why had the spell not given him some professor, _anyone_ who could have told him about the advances in magical knowledge? Then again, looking far enough into the future, any pureblood eleven-year-old might enter school with more background knowledge than previous geniuses. "All right, well. Let's practice the warming charm anyway."

Warming and cooling charms were, despite their practical similarity, different in theory. Rowena rattled on, when Salazar let her, about the different elements and what they meant. For the Founders themselves, all powerful mages, it made little difference. The only upshot was that Luna was able to get some measure of control over warming charms much more quickly than cooling ones, and Salazar wasn't supposed to worry about it because everyone learned at their own pace.

But one day—one night, really. Maybe the moon was out or something. She was trying to Transfigure a piece of string into straw, when she casually asked, "Would you like me to sing for you?"

Salazar blinked. "Why don't you finish your Transfiguration first?"

"All right," Luna sighed, but after a few more fruitless trials he grew bored.

"Go ahead and sing," he said. "Taking a break might be good for your mind."

"All right," she smiled, and began singing—something. It came out discordant, a parody of real language. He quickly lifted the charm, and then could detect an air of musicality, though he had even less idea what she was singing about. Perhaps it was just nonsense to begin with—part of it sounded like it might have been somebody pretending to make the sound of ringing bells. The melody was simple, although he supposed that even a millennium couldn't do much to the human voice. It was sweet, in an indistinct way.

"That was nice," he murmured, once he'd realized that she'd stopped. And then again, once he'd put the charm back on.

She blushed. "It's better as a round—my mum would start it—and when my dad sang more..."

"How long has your mother been dead, Lovegood?"

"Er, a couple of years—but really, right _now_, she hasn't died at all!" She broke into the biggest smile he had seen her give—and just as quickly, it was gone. "But what was that you cast at me just now?"

"Just the translation charm again, it's easier to hear the music when it's off."

"Oh...so you couldn't hear the words?"

"No. But it's not your fault, music is a powerful magic of its own." He paused. "Maybe you could dance, sometime? Then I'd be able to see."

"Maybe," Luna said. "But I should probably practice the spell again."

So she did. And she still didn't get anywhere.


	5. Five

Salazar wasn't sure who'd let it slip—him or the house-elves—but yes, he was raising a monster in the dungeons. He'd ordered the elves—an order that could _not_ be overruled, not by _anybody_, he was _Salazar Slytherin, Founder_ of the school, and into perpetuity they_ would_ obey—to leave animals at the entrance to a secret pipe. Indefinitely. Basilisks could live for...centuries.

Helga had brought her own crew of rascals to the school. Besides keeping secret orders, the house-elves were rather brilliant at making sure every administrative task the academics had never considered was taken care of.

And Godric...well, there was that confounded hat. That was all of theirs, really, but it was more Godric's. It at least actually talked—if you asked Godric about any monsters he was hiding in the castle, he'd grin and offer to show you a rather large sword in his office. Then Helga would slap him again.

So it might have seemed from the outside that Lovegood was Rowena's pet monster. The girl would often follow the witch around, and the witch graciously tolerated her devoted admirer. She was able to think of leading questions to tease out information about the future without making Lovegood feel like she was betraying too many specifics. So there would be Head_mistresses_ as well as Head_masters_. The quartered students, Houses, competed against each other for different glories, including at that silly-sounding broom game. Students had classes with their year- and housemates—sometimes two houses at once, but never more than one year.

But to call Lovegood just "Rowena's monster" was wrong on both counts.

She was not a monster.

And she was Salazar's, really. She slept with the other children, mostly out of pride he thought, and took Potions and theoretical lectures with them. But in the evening, they were alone, and she smiled a smile that did not belong in his millennium, that no one else in his millennium had seen. Perhaps had Rowena turned to look at Lovegood more, she would have, but instead they practiced into the night in his office, student and teacher.

So one day, he said merely, "No practice, today, I think you've earned a holiday. Come with me."

Part of him thought that the point of having a secret chamber is that it was _secret_. But from the whispers he had heard of her other conversations, there was no risk of his secret being blown. If anything, having her mention his Chamber of Secrets in the same conversation as the future's Chocolate Frogs or Crumple-Horned Snorkacks would make it even _less_ likely that anyone suspected him of really rebuilding the school.

So he led her to an innocuous supply closet on the second floor. There was the supply of chamber pots (which she had, at first, viewed as foreign objects—_that_ would be something to ask her about), and then, carved into the back of the wall, the copper snake.

"_Open_," he ordered.

"Sorry," said Luna, "but the translation charm has—oh!"

"It's all right," he smiled, taking a step back as a hole opened up in the wall.

Luna looked at it, then blinked. "The Chamber of Secrets."

"What?" Had he mentioned it to her?

"This is your secret chamber, isn't it?"

"Er...yes. Yes, it is. How did you know about it?"

"It's been opened again. By your heir, apparently."

"My heir?"

Helga had married and had children before she even considered founding a school. Rowena had, also—"if only because she couldn't bear the idea of not passing on her brains," Helga teased. Godric might've, but was just a bit too incorrigible to settle down.

He himself? He'd wanted to marry a nice Pureblood witch, have children, but that had gotten lost in the academic shuffle. "I will have a child, then?"

"Oh, yes. I assume so."

"So my heir has...unleashed the creature? To purge the school of the unworthy?"

"It got out," she said. "But it hasn't kicked anybody out of school yet. There've been a couple Petrifications, though."

"Petrifications?" That was curious. How did _that_ work?

"Oh yes."

"Ah. Well. Never mind, then. _Close_."

And the hole whirled away.

"Why is the charm breaking down?" she repeated.

Salazar laughed. "It's not the charm. I'm speaking Parseltongue."

"Oh yes!" she smiled. "I'd forgotten."

"So you all know I'm a Parselmouth? Brilliant. Is there anything else you know about me?"

"Er—you believed in Pureblood supremacy. You were the best of friends with Godric Gryffindor, but then—I shouldn't say."

"Is one of us going to get hurt?"

She shook her head. "I shouldn't say," she said, but the head-shake had been too instinctive to be a lie. Thankfully.

"And _I_ know that your monster is really a serpent gargoyle, but no one listens to me."

He laughed—no, Lovegood was not a trustworthy source. "I'm afraid to say it is not. Would you like to meet it?"

"Er. Do you want to Petrify me?"

"No," he said—as soon the moon hang in the sky, always full or always new, as she be _Petrified_.

"Oh. I only thought, if you wanted to leave me here for a thousand years, Petrified—then when they wake up all those other people with the Mandrakes they could wake me up as well. Or," she lit up, "you could leave a note, to have me restored earlier, before my mum died. Then I could see her again."

"Perhaps there will be more powerful magic by your time," he said, "but I do not think a Petrified body could be, ah, preserved a thousand years."

"Oh," she said. "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize. Would you still like to meet my pet? Just as a break from schoolwork?"

She considered it for a moment, then said, "I suppose."

"Very well. _Open_."


	6. Six

The hole spun back to life.

"We'll just slide through," Salazar explained. "I'll go first, if you like, and then you can follow-just wait a few moments and come along, it's a bit too far down for me to call out when I land. Don't try to direct yourself, just sit flat and you'll wind up at the bottom." He glanced at her-she was small, but surely not small enough to get derailed into one of the side pipes. "All right?"

"Do I need to cast spells?" she said nervously.

"No, just sit down and push off. It'll be fine." Trying to remember what Rowena had said about the elements, he added, "It's rather like flying. But you don't need to worry about falling off your broom."

"All right," she said, with a faint smile. Not the bright flashes she sometimes gave him, but enough to put him at ease as he began the descent. He could hear sounds that he thought were Lovegood, coming from behind, but she was too small to make much noise at the corners.

He brushed himself off when he exited, and sure enough, there came Lovegood a moment behind, wide-eyed in the dim light of his "_Lumos_."

"This is an awfully big tunnel," she said, as they proceeded.

"The tunnel was here," he explained. "I only added this part, and the chamber at the other end."

"How do we get back up the pipes?"

"We don't." Seeing her panic, he took her hand. "No, I mean that we go back up a _staircase_. I had that built, too."

"Oh. There's a staircase that goes back up? Why didn't we take it?"

"I think this way is more fun," he said, and they both laughed small laughs that echoed through the tunnel.

"_Open_," he ordered the emerald serpents at the tunnels' end. The stone wall gave way, and Salazar beckoned Lovegood into the Chamber itself.

A peaceful green light circled the distant ceiling, flickering down to fill the room with a soft glow. "This is a lovely place," said Lovegood, eyes widening at the size. "What do you do down here? You ought to have...I'm not sure, dances or, or books, or something."

"I think it's a bit too dim for that," Salazar said, walking along.

"Well, you'll just have to fill it up. What about a Heliopath you could order around? That'd light things up plenty. No, you have enough space for a whole menagerie!"

"That's not a bad idea," he said. The Basilisk needed food-having live prey every once in a while would make a nice change of pace.

"Who's that?" she asked, pointing at the sculpture on the far wall.

He laughed. "That is me."

"That's not a good image of you at all," she said. "Your beard is nowhere near that long. And your face doesn't have as many wrinkles. And your eyes are...alive."

"That they are," he said, pleased. He had commissioned the statue to be of himself as an emeritus, an aged and respected warlock. But even his closest friends seemed to respect him less each day, and the chamber seemed less like his final gift to the school and more like what the ingrates would call a curse.

And she had said it was his _heir_ who would open it again. Not merely some fortunate Parseltongue of blood as pure as his, some ambitious student, his _heir_. Oh, yes, there was life and youth in his body yet.

"Lovegood?" he asked quietly. "Have you come here before? Are you my heir?"

"No, sir."

"No matter." Of course not. She thought she was going to meet a gargoyle, he reminded himself. Not the most trustworthy source. "Close your eyes." The basilisk would be tame, of course, but better to be careful.

"Professor-yes, of course," she said, shutting hers.

"_Here I face my face. Let me behold what lives within me_."

The sculptured Slytherin's mouth opened, and the snake emerged. "_Eyes closed_," he demanded, and it obediently crawled down his stone body, slowly, then across the floor.

He took a few steps to check that its eyes were still closed. It was still a child, really, twelve of his fingers long. "You can look now," he said.

She blinked eagerly, and had to look around the room a couple times. Probably her Umkilling Slashbubbles or whatever they were were much larger. "There it is," he said, nodding at the snake. "Though I suppose it will have grown some, by the time it is released."

Lovegood nodded. "So it's just a snake?"

A laugh made its way to his mouth, then faded. "Yes."

The snake, too, was curious. "_Who is that?_"

"_A mute one_," he said, "_but a witch. A witch from..._" He paused, because in Parseltongue there is no word for "time." "_She comes with me_."

"You talk to it, too?" said Lovegood. "Can you introduce us?"

"I already have."

"Oh. Well, tell it I'm pleased to meet it. Does it have a name?"

"No. _She is happy, seeing you, coming here._"

"_Oh._"

"I don't usually bring others down here," he explained.

"Oh," she said. "Tell it..." She seemed restless, unusually fidgety. "That it oughn't kill Muggle-borns, or even Petrify them. That's not right."

Salazar sighed. Maybe this had been a bad idea. "_You will go up._" No use trying to translate "someday." "_Be wary. The mute ones have many magics they use to try and stop you from doing what you must do. Be strong and triumph._"

The only reply was something close to "_Now? When do I go?_" Snakes do not have keen senses of time.

"_Later. Now, go return within myself. I will come again soon._"

It stiffened, but complied.

"Well, now you have met my basilisk," Salazar said magnanimously.

"Oh," said Lovegood. "Thank you for taking me down here."

"You are welcome." She was not like the other students, and she reminded him of it even without trying. It was the least he could do to show her something truly strange, truly wondrous.

He made his way to one of the pillars, looking identical to the others except for another snake etched into its side. "_Open_."

The stone layer itself rolled away, revealing a thin and winding spiral staircase. "It's a long climb, but we can make it," he said, nodding to Lovegood. "Come along."

Better they had not taken the stairs, he decided-she panted on the way up, and kept glancing back down as if regretful. She was eleven years old, he thought-too young for that many regretful glances, but she was nothing if not strange.

They emerged in his office, behind a fake shelf that he pushed out of the way. "Well, there you have it," he smiled.

"Thank you, Professor."

"You are welcome."

"Er...does Ravenclaw have a secret tower or anything like that?"

He laughed. "I do not believe so."


	7. Seven

Helga kept Salazar up-to-date about Lovegood's progress in Potions. She was eager to learn, but-even with the translation charms-wasn't always sure what tenth-century potions ingredients referenced. The other students were gracious, but distant, in partnering her, and she was on the clumsy side. Her essays, however, were of high quality (since she'd come in with literacy far exceeding many of her classmates'), and after some polite requests, Helga had deigned to let her take extra ingredients from the supply cabinet.

To dangle from her ears.

Rowena, being Rowena, was first delighted, then exasperated by her conversations with the child. "She's _right_, you know, she really _shouldn't_ give too much away," she told Salazar one day. "But she doesn't know what to say, and I don't know what to ask...Did you not think this through at all?" Gratitude for other people's sparks of genius, exasperation that they didn't "reason it out all the way"-that was Rowena.

"I didn't mean to summon her!" he retorted. That was all he needed to say.

"And would you send her back, if you could?"

He shrugged. "What does it matter? We've been through this and we can't."

"So be it. Helga and I are having a practice duel-I shouldn't keep her." And she haughtily walked away.

Helga and I, Helga and I. Every other sentence out of her mouth was _Helga and I_, even if he knew she would aim with more frustration than a practice duel required, even though he knew Helga wouldn't put her best effort into it and deny Rowena the satisfaction of a real challenge. They could be vicious behind everyone's backs, those women, but together they put up a united front just so they could rub it in Salazar and Godric's faces that _they_ at least didn't have to resort to raised voices in front of the _students_.

It was another day of their hissed words ("come now, don't you see how much more ground we can cover it we need not train children in the absolute basics? you'll only slow down those eager to learn"/"and you'd only abandon those who never knew they _could_ learn!") and downcast faces that ended in a night unlike those that had come before. Lovegood was attentive, almost more wound up than usual, during lessons, and when she succeeded in turning a tree branch into a feather he said (after putting the charm on, again) "That will do."

But Lovegood spoke up. "Er, Professor? There's something I'd like to show you."

"Is that so? By all means."

"Er...it'd be easier outside."

He was about to respond with a "I appreciate your concern, but you do not need to...share any of your accessories with me," but she went on. "Or down in the Chamber of Secrets, I suppose. Although it's rather dark."

Salazar exhaled-surely it could not be a matter of her plants if the Chamber was an option. "Outside is fine."

So they walked out the doors. Spring was on its way, bringing shorter nights, yet still the moon rose early enough to mirror the sun, and neither shivered in the cool air.

"If you intend to perform a Mooncalf mating ritual, I will be heading indoors now," he snapped. Yes, some of the upper class married at younger ages than she had thought were normal-Helga had been the one to quiz her about the habits of family life-but not _that_ young, and he had no desire to see her without clothes.

"Oh, no sir. I just wanted to dance when it's still light enough to see."

He said nothing, and in the time it took him to pause she had begun leaping. That was what it was, really, not a dance to and fro or anything with arms forward to hold. Her arms spun from time to time, to be sure, waved or swept or thrown about her body, but it was not motion he could conceive of anyone mirroring.

Mostly he watched her feet. As soon as one grazed the ground, it seemed, the other would rise up again, and there were moments when she seemed to float a second too long. Some instinctive wandless magic, or a trick of his mind? _The latter_, he told himself firmly as she touched ground again.

He was a man who had _learned_ to dance, been raised to know the motions of step after step, and perhaps that was what drew him to her feet. For those were not patterned, and seemed never to be the same step twice. Perhaps the students of the next millennium had abandoned all pattern, given up the beauty in the old ways and bred with common Muggles.

But _he_ had an heir. Someone kept old magic alive.

Perhaps, instead, there was only rhythm because he had told himself to watch it, and she took every step through the school with the same lilting syncopation of a stranger out of time.

Her earrings swayed behind her, lagging almost. He had almost expected them to _do_ something, or at least look-not elegant, not dignified. Otherworldly? Lovely? If it was really otherworldly, he thought, it ought to look _stranger_, like it fit _somewhere_ if not there, instead of something caught half between his world and another. She did not seem to fit.

Yet could anyone who kept moving like she did, bounding off her feet?

"Luna," he whispered, and he found it _her_ name. Not a poor translation, not a nonsensical muttering, _her_ on her nimble feet.

He did not know how long she turned and turned about-four minutes? Forty? But he only knew she'd stopped by that quiet, hopeful smile gracing her face where before there had been just a distant tranquility. "Well done," he said, and weight seemed to slip out of her shoulders.

And still he watched her eager feet. Back up the steps, and into the school, and every time she came to his office, still he watched them and tried to separate her dance step from her walking step. And when he gave up, he tried to pick out the invisible beat to which she kept time.


	8. Eight

It was a misty day at May's end when another argument began. None of the arguments started over irrelevant things, to turn into the question of purity later on. Salazar and Godric agreed on so many other things that they were not immature bickerers, whose noise one could tune out. They were twin forces, too similar to give way, too strong to go on at odds from each other.

But every so often, one of them would mention something half-relevant, and the other, unwilling to let the opportunity to make a point slip by without comment, gave a jabbing reply. From then, it was only a question of how loud their voices could rise.

"...you are a fool, and if you keep this up you'll destroy the school we worked so hard to create."

"Not the school I worked on. I don't know what happened to that school, except that people working behind my back seized it from me."

"We have seized nothing, Salazar! We want to work with you, we always have!"

"No. No, you have wanted to work with blood-traitors and the hopeless, the hot-headed and the egg-headed. But not me."

"Salazar, shut your mouth and wait. I will not try and argue with you when you are raving."

"You? Teach me about patience?" Their wands lay at their sides-Godric too cowardly to appreciate magic, the fool, and Salazar feeling more contempt than anger towards his closest friend.

Besides, even were he to strike Godric down, the women would round on him.

"No. Just wait until you are ready to see sense."

"Being a patient man, Godric, means that I will not change my mind. It is you who have recanted, you weak-willed good-for-nothing!"

"I am good for many things-and so are you, Salazar! But you must open yourself to the world so that you can do the good you are so capable of!"

"Why should I? What has the world done for me?"

"It's given you us."

"And you turned on me."

"We did no such thing!"

"If you are not traitors, you are liars. All of you."

"Salazar-"

"Deny it if you wish. It does not matter."

"Salazar."

"Godric."

He met his old friend's eyes, trying to think of some comeback to a retort about the students needing him. But Godric said nothing-he saw only Salazar's patience, not the fact that even the patient give up.

"Salazar-"

"Tell me the truth. Do you stand with me? Or among the impure?"

"I stand with Hogwarts. As I always have. Where you said you always would."

"I said I would stand with the school I thought I knew. With the f-the people I thought I knew. I was misinformed, but I am not wrong."

"Salazar, you-"

"Do not try and tell me what I am! I do not trust you if I was so wrong about you were. No more excuses. The truth is on your face."

He walked out of the room, clinching his wand tightly while not expecting to use it. Godric would just think he needed more time to think.

Time helped. Quiet helped more.

Salazar went to the Chamber by way of his office, pacing the dark floors. Hogwarts would stand. Lovegood had shown him that much-that was all he had wanted from her, though at that moment he needed the assurance far more than he had that first day.

He would stay loyal to his school, as long as he could. The students needed him. The others...They had rejected him, at least for who he was.

And if he left? There were other people, grown witches and wizards. Someone with whom he could raise a family, of pure blood and pure thought.

"Are you awake in there? I'm..." Sometimes their communication broke down because there were no words in Parseltongue for what he meant, but at that moment, it took him some time to find the right word just because he had never needed it that desperately. "lonely."

There was a rustle that might have been a reply, and he commanded the statue to open. "Eyes closed," he said, as the basilisk slid down.

"You can survive without me-and I without you," he admitted. He had been preparing for that day as a safeguard, seeing how apathetic Godric and the others were towards upholding any kind of standards. But he had not expected it to come.

What of Lovegood? She was his responsibility, really. He could take her away with him, perhaps to serve him and his family like a house-elf. Or would she grow to be his wife? A few more years, and she could bear children...

Yet he could not imagine her growing into another dutiful wife, appreciated for the children and the milk within her, run tired by babbling toddlers (Would they learn her strange muddle of a language? Or would he have to be the only one to speak to them for the first few years, to be sure they learned proper speech?), made to wear elegant gowns and forgo her beloved...flora, not free to rise by night and sing. And despite her capabilities of imagination, he did not think that she could imagine such a life either.

Hogwarts? The rest of the wizarding world? Lovegood? Everyone demanded his attentions, and there seemed to be no way to balance them. He turned to the basilisk, although it couldn't see him either way-but the social niceties of making eye contact were too ingrained for Salazar to ignore completely. Even for a basilisk.

"What do you want?"

There was no hesitation. "Magic."

One moment, it was nonsensical. The next, the way forward was clear. Anyone could feed a basilisk, but only he would give it a gift that would transcend time. Lovegood had given him-no, Lovegood was the proof that Hogwarts would endure.

And so would the serpent.

"By fang or by gaze?"

"You can choose."

Stroking the serpent's head, Salazar looked at the statue of himself. A few more moments would harm no one. Lovegood had seen light in his eyes. He would not let her last sight be the basilisk's.


	9. Nine

She raised her hand, the sign they'd agreed on for "put the charm back on now." He had still found time to draw up a lesson plan, at least in his head amid the packing. They were working on turning a mouse into a seashell, but they had not gotten very far before, the charm on, she spoke up.

"Are you all right, Professor?"

"No," he said, "I am not."

"You and Professor Gryffindor were arguing again, weren't you? I heard the other students talking."

"Yes," he nodded, "we were."

She opened her mouth, then looked around the room. "You've packed up all your things."

"Yes. I-"

"It's probably good. You don't want the Hendells to infest them."

"I do not," he said-which was actually true. "Lovegood-I am leaving Hogwarts tonight."

"Oh," she said, calmly. "Yes."

"You..." He broke off. She _had_ known. From before-later.

Well, it made no difference. "I would like to say goodbye to my snake before I leave. Come with me?" He stood up from the desk. "You never got a chance to hold it, and once I leave, you will not be able to get back in. I think it would like you, like someone else to hold it."

"Oh. Am I to come with you, when you leave? Where are you going?"

"I am going to find a wife, I hope," he said. "Doing the boring but necessary adult things. You will stay here-you are a child, and you ought to get a good education."

"Oh." Was that a tremble in her voice? He had to have been hearing things.

Once he had turned the false shelf, he whispered the Parseltongue command to the wall. It gave way, and he led her down the spiral.

"Who will cast the translation charm on me? When you're gone?"

"Ask Rowena-er, I'm sorry, that's Ravenclaw to you."

"She won't like you. Not after you run away."

He hesitated-she was probably right. "But that doesn't mean she won't like you."

"But I _know_ you. You're my special teacher."

"Yes, of course."

"So what if she doesn't like me because I was your student mostly?"

"She likes you."

" The Slytherins where I used to live-" she began, but then paused, taking his words in. "She does?"

"Of course."

She smiled-one of those smiles that he knew, and Rowena never would-and they continued walking.

He turned at the bottom of the staircase to see her finish the descent in her strange, almost musical, steps, and keep half-dancing as she followed him to the statue. "Come out, eyes closed," he said once more.

And the snake emerged.

"Does it have a name?" Lovegood asked.

He paused. "Not one you would understand. _Come here_."

The snake made its way, very slowly, towards his voice-sight was a distinct advantage. He bent to the ground, picking it up, and said softly, "_Wait until I speak. I will pass her to you first_."

"Here you are," he said, placing it between her hands.

In Parseltongue, there is no word for "end." No snake has known the peace of turning the last page in a book and putting it on its shelf, nor of descending from the air after the Quidditch game is won, nor of bidding school days farewell on a slow trip across a still lake. So Salazar looked at the two of them and whispered, "_Basilisk, kill._"

The snake _writhed_.

Neither Salazar nor Luna could have known what it felt like for the snake, suddenly touching the skin of a girl who belonged in the future. Had she lived the months and days and moments she spent in Salazar's time back in her own time instead, she would have come to the instant in 1993 when the same snake, in the same chamber, was slain by Gryffindor's blade.

The snake, not understanding, coiled its tail around her left arm for balance while its head surged. It wrapped its entire body around her arm, but when its head bit down, it did not reach its own tail; instead, it had spiraled enough for its fangs to sink deep into her arm and taste her lifeblood.

Lovegood stiffened at the burst of pain, but did not cry out. Salazar put one arm on her far shoulder. "Hush...hush, little one. I am here."

The snake still hung on. "_Get off her. Be patient. She will be yours soon enough._"

It reluctantly opened its mouth and swiveled its body; still with its eyes closed, it flopped off of her. Lovegood's teeth began to chatter, and her legs gave way. Salazar eased her onto the floor.

And then, with his other hand, he took out his wand, pointing it at her and whispering. Perhaps it would comfort her to think that he was healing her, when in fact, he was just removing the translation charm. She would die free, not under any spell.

Still her mouth moved, by then struggling in the effort of saying anything coherent. She managed just one splutter, too indistinct for him to tell if she was a betrayed woman, calling out his name, or a lost child, pleading for her mother. Then she lay still.

"_There you are. She is yours_."

The snake, still unable to see, made its way over to the limp body-and began gnawing on her robes. It stopped, opened its mouth, and hissed as if offended.

Sighing, Salazar knelt beside Lovegood and, with fingers trembling across her cold skin, took off her outer robe-that night, before he left the grounds completely, he would cast it into the lake. He could not bring himself to remove any more.

"_Now, start here_," he said, dragging the snake to where it happily began eating Lovegood's earring. He'd tell the house-elves to destroy the rest of her clothing, once the basilisk was done, and swear them to secrecy on that point as well. "_When you are done, return where you came from. More food will follow._

_But take your time_," he smiled, walking to the stairs. "_You will live a thousand years_."


End file.
